Welcome to Hell
by IceCreamSandwich
Summary: Perry Cox is Sacred Heart’s newest intern, but a lot of things there have him wishing he wasn’t and glad he is.
1. Welcome to Insanity

**Hello. I've had this idea for a while, I just didn't do anything about it until now. This is mainly the story of Dr. Cox's internship, but there will be other characters from the show, including younger versions of Ted, Janitor, Kelso, Carla, and Jordan. There will be some OCs, too. So, I hope you enjoy reading this. It should be a good break from the sheer depressingness of my other story.**

**Now, on with the story.**

Perry's only thoughts as he walked into the hospital were how new everything was, and how professional it all seemed.

Someone wearing purple scrubs suddenly shot out of a stairway in a wheelchair right in front of him, throwing him off-balance. She waved and winked at him as she passed. He waved back tentatively.

A short, balding maintenance worker swung an orange stethoscope over his head like a lasso. Another, much taller one watched with amusement and something like fear on his face.

A man in a suit was arguing with a young, scary-looking woman. "Legally, he can't do that right? What does it matter if some barely-qualified, minimum-wage worker didn't hand me a shiny blue diploma saying I'm allowed to cut people open and give them addictive drugs? I've been a board member for three years!" she was saying.

The man wiped his head with his ugly tie and ran his hand through his dark hair. "Ms. Sullivan, I wouldn't know. You might want to ask a lawyer."

She crossed her arms. "Aren't you the new hospital lawyer?"

"I wouldn't know."

Okay, maybe not so professional.

Lost in thought, he accidentally ran into someone. He was knocked backwards onto the ground. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he looked up to see who he had run into. He was greeted with the face of none other than; he squinted at the nametag hovering a few feet from his nose; Dr. Bob Kelso.

Kelso bent down slightly, as if he was going to help him up. He didn't do that, though. "You must be a new intern," he observed.

"Yeah." Perry scrambled to his feet, slightly embarrassed.

"Then," he said grimly, "Let me be the first say: welcome to hell. Get out while you still can," He gestured towards the hospital's 'lawyer', who was still standing in the same spot, even though the board member he had been talking to had left, looking confused. "Or else you'll end up like him."

"But, Dr. Kelso, I've only worked here for two weeks!" he protested.

"Like I said, Sport, just like him," he told Perry, patting him on the shoulder. He chuckled to himself as he left. "Interns are fun."

Perry wiped at his nose before crossing his arms. What was that guy's problem?

He dropped his arms to his sides and started walking again. He had to get to the intern orientation thingy. He continued on for a while without further incident, but he soon saw the two janitors again, trying to pry open a door with a hammer and a crowbar. "Hey, you," the short, older one said. "Do you know what's wrong with this door?"

Perry turned toward him, arms crossed over his chest. "Maybe your stupid orange stethoscope got so scared of your clown-like looks that it hid in there and locked the door," he replied irritably.

The janitor pointed at him with his crowbar. "How would you know that?" Perry opened his mouth and started to speak, but he cut him off. "If it turns out that's true, you'll be sorry."

Perry shrugged and started walking away, ignoring the upset janitor's shouts. If there was one thing he learned in the past few minutes, it was that everyone here was insane, and should be treated as such.

Once he was out of view, the janitor laughed and turned to his taller companion. "See, that's how it's done. None of this 'excuse me, did you jam this door' crap! Now, where did I put that stethoscope?"

The other janitor silently reached into the pocket of his gray uniform and pulled it out.

"Nifty."

* * *

"So," Dr. Benson, who was the Chief of Medicine and by far the sanest person Perry had encountered so far, said, "Welcome to Sacred Heart, everyone. I hope you'll like it here."

Ted came in the door, looking extremely sweaty and nervous. "Am I late?" he asked, wiping his forehead with his tie again.

"It's okay," he told him. Then, to all of the interns, he said, "Ted, our lawyer, is going to talk to you about some legal issues you may encounter while working here, and how to avoid them." He motioned for Ted to walk to the front of the room. When he did, Dr. Benson left.

Ted laughed nervously. "Okay, I guess we can start with lawsuits. You don't want a lawsuit. They are bad. Do not drink alcohol the day before surgery, or on the day of surgery. Don't kill people... their families might sue us. If they don't have families... I guess you can go ahead and kill them, but only if your sure they have no family... or friends... who could sue. Okay, that's it, I guess. You're all free to go." He gave another nervous laugh before running out of the room as fast as he could.

Once he was out in the hallway, he slowed. _'It could be worse, Ted,'_ he reminded himself, _'At least you still have all of your hair.'_

Perry and the other interns came out of the room, chatting amongst themselves.

Dr. Kelso walked up. "Now, everyone," he said. "You all have work, work, and more work to do. So get moving!" He just stared at them for a second. "Go!"

They all scattered, even though they didn't have a clue as to where to go. Perry eventually found himself by the nurses' station. He leaned against the counter and tried to look nonchalant and professional at the same time. If that wasn't work, then what was?

"Get off," a voice behind him said.

"What?" he asked without turning around, still trying to maintain his façade of coolness and professionalism.

"You're on my chart."

Perry quickly lifted his elbow from the chart and turned around. "Oh, uh, Dr..." _'Think, Think...' _"Dr. Benson."

"Didn't Kelso give you work to do? I told him to... Never mind. I'd be surprised if Bob ever listened to anything I said," he chuckled, handing Perry the chart he was so desperate to get just moments before. "You can just take this patient."

"Okay." He took a few nervous steps back. Dr. Benson smiled encouragingly, and Perry opened the chart, took note of the room number, and turned around, wishing he was as confident as he was pretending.

He walked slowly, wondering who his first patient would be. It did not occur to him that that information was only a chart away.

When he got to the room, the janitors on either side, standing like guards and waving the orange stethoscope for him to see, did not help his confidence at all. He chose to ignore them, and placed his hand on the doorknob.

It was time to see his first patient.

**I really like reviews, so please give them. Thanks! :-)**


	2. Welcome to the Job

**Welcome to chapter two! Thanks a ton to any reveiwers, and also thanks to readers of my story... Now you can read some more!**

Carla drummed her fingers against the edge of the bed distractedly. Her mother was sitting on the other side of the room, pretending to read a pamphlet about AIDs that she found somewhere in the waiting room, but really glancing at her daughter every few seconds when she thought she wasn't looking.

Carla sighed in that overly dramatic, exaggerated way that only people of the long-suffering younger generation are able to pull off, and crossed her arms, preparing to, once again, ask her even longer suffering mother just why she was making a big deal over nothing. But, just as she opened her mouth and her mom went back to pretending to read, so she wouldn't be caught looking, the door opened, and in walked a young man wearing blue scrubs and a slightly terrified expression.

He nervously cleared his throat a few times before speaking. "Hello," he said, "I'm Dr. Cox, your, well, doctor." Carla's mom, who was actually named Lisa Espinosa, stood up from her chair and put the pamphlet down on it. "Anyway," he continued, fingering the dull metal chart in his hands, "Why are you here?"

Carla shifted uncomfortably, looking to her mom for help, but she just crossed her arms in a way that suggested this was payback for some tiny thing her daughter had done, or, more likely, forgotten to do. Carla soon gave up her gaze of pleading, which at some point had turned into a glare of deep annoyance, once she realized her mother wasn't going to help her. "Um, well... wait, a nurse came in and wrote it on the clipboard thing." She pointed at the chart he was still fidgeting with, and glanced at Lisa triumphantly.

"Right," he said, flipping the chart open and glancing over the symptoms: abdominal pain, fever, and what was loosely described as 'chronic diarrhea'. "Okay, then, I'm going to…" He paused, commanding himself to think, think, he went to medical school for four years, come on, damn it… He swallowed. "Draw some blood." He smiled at Lisa.

She raised an eyebrow, wondering why this doctor seemed so nervous and— she added to herself as she saw him fumble with the needle— incompentent. He eventually got the needle right, though, and leaned over Carla's arm. He poked once, pulled it out, and then pushed it back in, looking rather relieved, if a little disbelieving, when he realized he had hit the vein. Holding himself back from jumping through the ceiling in pure ecstacy, mostly because he didn't want to disturb anyone preforming surgery or something equally important by crashing up from beneath them, he pulled back on the end of the needle until it had filled almost all the way with blood. He tried not to smile to big as he said, "I'm just going to go take this to be tested."

He left the room feeling like a doctor.

* * *

He entered the cafeteria still feeling like some experianced, professional, amazing doctor, all because he was able to draw a living person's blood and then drop it off at the lab to be tested. Wow! He was still waiting for results to come back, was on a break (his first one ever!) and hungry, so he came here.

Once he had gotten his food, he sat down at the nearest table, not noticing that some else was already sitting there. He had just picked up his fork when he saw her.

He had seen her earlier, of course, talking to that weird lawyer. He had called her Ms. Sullivan or something, Perry recalled, and she was also kind of scary. She was looking into a hand mirror and applying lipstick, so he was fairly certain that she hadn't noticed him yet. He quietly twisted his chair around and scooted closer to the table that was now in front of him, until he noticed the janitors, each with matching orange stethoscopes around their necks and matching expressions of hatred that was undoubtably directed at him, sitting at the table. He turned his chair back around quickly.

When she heard his chair scooting back to the table, Ms. Sullivan looked up. She narrowed her eyes at him, but seemed generally indifferent to his presence.

He poked at his food, salad and a sandwich, and shuffled his feet under the table. He accidentally hit her foot with his own. He quickly drew his feet back when she looked at him. "Hey, Sally, watch it," she said sharply, and he suddenly felt a strange, inaproprite wave of defiance rise up in him, something that probably had too much to do with his earlier success drawing blood.

"My name's not Sally," said Perry just as harshly, forgetting that everyone in this place should be considered insane, armed, and most certainly dangerous.

"Really?" she replied, "'Cause you look like a Sally to me." He opened his mouth to reply to this comment (_I bet she's never drawn blood…_), but she started speaking before he could. "What's your real name, then?"

"Perry," he replied shortly, not being very fond of his name or this woman.

She chuckled. "I'm Jordan," she told him.

He made a snorting noise, the one that close friends of his (which for some reason, he always seemed to have, but never seemed to keep) always came to identify as uniquely his.

Jordan crossed her arms, glanced at her food as if it was the first time she had ever seen it, and prodded a lump of jello on her plate with a fork, a vaguely disgusted expression coming over her face as it's milky contents began to leak out. "Seriously," she said to both herself and Perry. "I swear, next time I come here, I'm not going to buy their sick ass excuse for food, hoping that maybe they have improved just a little bit, or have stopped trying to posien everyone who just happens to have any business in this hellish place." There it was again: someone refering to this place as hell. It wasn't really that bad, was it?

Suddenly, an alarm went off, beeping loudly. Jordan rolled her eyes, and yelled across the table, "Shit! It always seems to happen whenever I'm here!"

"What happens?" Perry asked over all the noise. Jordan pointed at something behind him. He swirved around, and gasped at what he saw: flames. The place was on fire!

Dr. Benson ran past, muttering to himself. Perry wasn't sure, but he thought he heard him say something about how he knew the Convicts to Cooks program was the worst idea ever, and about it being the fifth time this month.

Employees and other people who visited the hospital regularly just kept on eating, despite the flames and the chaos and the alarms and the rapidly aproaching sound of sirens.

Glumly plopping himself back into his uncomfortable chair, the fires raging behind him like a bad special effect in a bad movie, Perry decided that maybe, just maybe, he had gotten himself landed in hell after all.

* * *

**Reviews are immensely appreciated. **

**TBC...**


	3. Welcome to Janitoria

**Chapter three, here! Thanks to my reviewers and readers, as always. Now, I assume you're here to read the story, no? Then do it!**

* * *

Perry was still basking in the glow of drawing blood. He was't sure of this at first. He thought that maybe he had gotten sidetracked by the fire and accepting the fact that this place was horribly hellish, you know, normal hospital stuff like that.

He had just realized he was still basking when the janitors came down the hallway. Now, being janitors of Sacred Heart, they did not do this in the normal way. They jump roped.

That was not the worst part, though. The worst part was what they were jump roping with: a bunch of orange stethoscopes tied together.

He had almost gotten to the lab to pick up his patient's test results when they came to a stop in front of him, waiting for him to respond. He didn't keep them waiting for long.

"Are you insane?" he practiacally shouted, causing more than one patient to stick their heads out of their rooms.

The taller janitor calmly replied, "Yes."

He grabbed both of the stethoscope chains, easily tugging them from the janitors' grasps. He tied them together as tight as he could and tossed them down the hallway. "Go fetch, you idiots." The stethoscopes skidded to a stop about five feet down the hall.

Tall one made a move to go get it, but the short one grabbed his arm and pulled him away. "This isn't over," he whispered to Perry as they passed. Then he gave a horrible attempt at giving the evil eye.

Right… Now, the reason he was basking in the glow of drawing blood was that it was time to go pick up his patient's lab results, something he couldn't have done if he hadn't drawn the blood in the first place.

He kicked his leg out in a victorious, dance-like move. Then, he continued walking, vowing never to do that again.

Five seconds later, he did it again, but this time, he actually hit something: the orange tangle of stethoscopes. They slid about two more inches.

Five feet later, he was at the aptly named test result pick up station. He grabbed the chart with the sticker declaring Carla Espinosa, and flipped it open. The inside of it was empty, except for a picture of the two janitors, each wearing cheap plastic wings covered in orange glitter on the back of their uniforms. At the bottom of the ridiculous picture, it said, 'Find me if you can! I'm hidden well.'

Find what? he wondered. Oh...

On closer inspection, the shorter janitor appeared to be holding the insides of Carla's chart high above his head. And, of course, wearing an orange stethoscope.

He pulled the picture out, hoping to see all of Carla's papers safely hidden under them, but no such luck. Instead, he found a piece of paper, saying in scratchy handwriting:

_This is your first clue. Find the statue of the stethoscope _(What was it with those janitors and stethoscopes?)_. Your next clue will be orange._

_LET THE GAMES BEGIN!_

Perry sighed, "Janitors."

--

"Hey, uh, Jordan?"

"No," Jordan replied without turning around.

"What do you mean 'no'?"

"No."

Nonplussed, Perry backed away, wondering what you were supposed to do if attacked by a vicious, man-eating Jordaroo. He remembered that everyone was insane in this hospital. This made him feel only a little better— he couldn't help wondering if he'd go insane, too, if he stayed.

Probably.

He was on the roof, looking for the stethoscope statue the Janitors had told him to find, but he wasn't having much luck. Jordan wouldn't help him; she was too busy staring down at the ant-sized people from her perch on the roof. Perry imagined she was planning on dropping a bomb down on them. Or maybe light them on fire, one by one.

He stopped backing away, turned around, and started walking away. When he got to the other side of the roof, he saw the weird lawyer guy sitting on the edge of the roof, brushing his hair with something that looked like a small, stone replica of a stethoscope. Could it be...

Approach him slowly, he might be the devil in disguise. Or he might just be the devil in casual wear, between stealing innocent people's souls.

Probably not.

"Hey." Um... Dude. Weirdo. Idiot. Ted. Ted!"Ted," Perry said, sitting on the wall beside him. "Can I borrow your... hairbrush...?"

"No!" Ted shouted, sliding off the wall and covering his head. "YOU WILL NOT GET MY HAIR!!"

"No, hair_brush._"

Ted pulled his hands out of his hair and looked at them. "Oh. Sure." He handed Perry the statue and walked over to Jordan. Jordan pushed him away.

Perry looked at the statue, wondering where they could have gotten something so stupid. It was a tiny, fake stone stethoscope with plastic arms and legs. It was wearing what looked like a Barbie stripper outfit.

On the back was an orange post-it note.

_Good job! You found it. Tell Ted we'll give him his fifty bucks tomorrow._

_Now, unless you want us to dump you into a vat of hair bleach while you are sleeping... go to your patient's room. You played a good game._

Perry sat there, wondering what exactly that meant. Was this little game over? Or were they going to dump that 'vat of hair bleach' on him when he went into his patient's room?

There was only one way to find out.

--

"Why are you carrying an umbrella?" Carla asked as he entered the room.

Perry glanced up at the umbrella he was holding, then quickly shut it. "No reason. Now, Carla, I'm going to need to draw some more blood."

"Why?"

"Well, I am a doctor, and that is something we sometimes need to do. And, I know I already had some, got it tested, but some janitors took it away, and these things happen, they do."

"Okay, you can do that." She smiled.

He poked the needle into her skin, filled it with blood, then pulled it out. "So, Carla, where's your mom?"

"Somewhere. She'll be back. Why are you so... excited?"

"No reason. Well, it's actually my first day here," he answered, setting the syringe on the table.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"Cool. You know, I wanted to be a doctor."

"I rea-heally advise against that. You see, first you pay unreasonable amounts of money to have people tell you what to do for eight whole years, then you get a diploma, you graduate, you party, but then you have to get a job, and it's back to people telling you what to do every single second of every single day. Tell me, do you really want a tribe of janitors ruling your life?" Perry took a deep breath, not used to saying so much at once.

"But instead I think I'm going to be a nurse," Carla said.

"Oh. How old are you?" he asked, fiddling with her heart monitor screen.

"Seventeen. Eighteen in a few weeks. So don't you have to..."

"Yeah, I've got to go re-test this." He held up the syringe, and walked out the doorway.

Once he was out the door, the short janitor walked up to him. He took an orange stethoscope off his neck, and put it around Perry's. Then he tried to take the blood-filled needle he was holding away.

"Stop it!" Perry shouted, pushing the janitor away. "You know, she just might have something life threatening, and do you really want to be the one to kill her?"

"It's not life threatening. I've seen the test results, remember?"

Perry growled.

"Very mature. You just keep on growling at people, okay?"

"What are you trying to do? Are you trying to get me fired?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah. Have a good one." Short janitor patted Perry on the shoulder and walked off.

Hell has obviously gone insane.

* * *

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	4. Welcome to the Life

**Okay, here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy! Feedback is super appreciated...**

* * *

Perry found it hard to believe that only one day had passed at Sacred Heart. It had seemed like he had been attaching IVs and wiping drool off unconscious people's mouths for his whole life, even though it had only been a few hours since he went on call and discovered what an intern's job _really_ was.

Before his dreaded pager went off for the first time, Dr. Benson had gathered all the interns preparing for their first night on the job together, and given them an overly cheery pep talk, which only served to increase their anxiety. Perry really could have done without knowing the average amount of urine a doctor was saturated with over the course of his career, never mind if it had been intended as a joke. Needless to say, Dr. Benson was the only one who laughed.

After he became aware how uncomfortable he was making the interns, he stopped chuckling. "You'll all do great," he said. "Really, there is no need to worry."

The average amount of anxiety the interns were saturated with doubled.

Dr. Kelso slid up. "Just try not to kill anyone," he advised. Anxiety tripled, and more than one intern was seized with the compulsion to run. Before they had time to act, however, Dr. Benson announced that their "time of freedom was up: they were officially on call."

No one was sure if that was supposed to be a joke; either way, nobody laughed.

* * *

The first time he had been paged was to change a bandage on a broken leg. After fumbling with the scissors on the thick cast for about five minutes without any leeway, a nurse took pity on him and finished the job. He awkwardly stood out of the way, watching her expertly take it off and begin to wrap a new one on in thirty seconds flat, wondering if he should leave or stay and watch. This was decided for him when a random doctor demanded he come help him hold down a screaming hysterical patient.

He eagerly followed, the small part of him that still held the hope of this place being an action-packed adventure slowly growing, yelling 'Ha, ha, I told you so!'

When they arrived at the patients room, though, the patient was calmly sleeping, most likely because of some kind of sedative. A nurse was coolly making her way out of the room, stepping over a mess of spilt food like she saw things like this every day. Random Doctor turned to Perry, evilness in his eyes. "Do you mind cleaning up this mess?" he asked.

Perry opened his mouth. Then closed it. He knew for a fact this place had janitors working there, so why should he have to clean it up? "Why me?"

He sighed. "The custodians have organized a 'janitorial strike' that starts this evening. Tomorrow they'll come back to work, but for now..." he gestured at the carnage of food and medical supplies. "You'll find a mop inside that closet."

After he had scrubbed most of the food off the floor, he stood up. His back hurt like hell from being bent down for so long. It turned out they did not have a mop in the closet, just a sponge, so he did what he could with that. In spite of the unsatisfactory cleaning supplies, one could easily tell apart the places he had washed and where he hadn't. The hospital could really use a good, thorough cleansing, he decided, but no way was he going to be the one to do it. No way.

That incident was only one of the reasons he was glad the day was over.

The next patient he was forced to be in contact with was a nineteen year old girl who had swallowed a little car antifreeze "just to see what it tasted like." All he had to do was start an IV on her, thank god, but even that proved to be a little harder than he expected. Another nurse took it over half way, while a couple of doctors and nurses pretended not to notice and tried not to laugh. Apparently, being unable to poke very thick needles into fully (or in this case, barely) conscious people was not considered abstaining from torturous acts; it was something that entertained all the routine needle-pokers.

This was followed by two people throwing up on his shoes (in unison, which caused a number of people to clap), a seeing-eye dog starting off his first of many urine saturations, having to wear a blue scrub top with purple scrub bottoms because no one had any extra blue ones, finally seeing another patient just to pass her on to the nearest capable nurse, running straight into Dr. Benson, running straight into Dr. Kelso (again), running straight into the random doctor from before, running straight into a random nurse, running straight into the hair obsessed lawyer, and then the only halfway decent thing to happen that night: running straight into Jordan, just as he was going on break.

"Hey, Perry," she said, staring down at where he laid on the floor.

His head ached from all the falls and crashes he had experienced that day, which he hoped was a symptom of lack of sleep and not of being a complete klutz. He still had two more hours left to go after his measly twenty minute break, so that, and the lack of sleep thing, must have been what caused him to forget about the craziness of the people who worked here. Still lying on the floor in a slightly fetal position, Perry found himself asking, "Hey, Jordan. Want to go get some coffee?"

She adjusted her grip on the big orange bag she was carrying. "I don't see why not," she replied. She looked at him a second more before turning on her heel, heading for the door. "So, are you coming or what?" she called behind her.

He let his head bang back against the floor, immediately regretting the sharp pain it caused. Not one person had ever tried to help him up from his numerous falls. Not one.

He wondered why he cared more that Jordan didn't, either.

* * *

When he made it to the cafeteria, his chest hurt, partially from the nurse who had stepped on his chest instead of walking around him, but mostly because he had run down four flights of stairs, fell again at the bottom, landing directly on top of a bed pan, then run the rest of the way to the cafeteria. By the time he got there, he was pretty winded, but at least he still got there before Jordan had finished her drink.

He ordered his own coffee and walked over to her. He noticed that she was at the same table they were at when they met all those hours ago. For some reason, it felt like eons had passed.

"Hello again," Jordan said as he practically fell into his seat.

He raised his hand in a half-wave and started to guzzle his much-needed coffee. Jordan watched with an expression halfway between boredom and interest on her face; how she pulled that off, Perry would never learn.

Once he had killed the drink, he put the empty cup on the table, feeling much more alert. "Hi, Jordaroo," he said.

She tilted her head, confused. "Jordaroo?"

Uh-oh. Did he just call her Jordaroo. He thought he said Jordan... but could he really help it if that was what he had been thinking of her as?

"What's that?" she asked.

"Well, it's a 'Jordan' and a 'roo'. I don't know," he stuttered. He hoped he wasn't blushing or anything, although he was sure he was.

She took a sip of her coffee. "I think it's sort of cute."

That caught his attention and made his need for headache medication less pressing. "You do?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'll shoot you if you ever call me that again, but it is slightly cute."

He didn't doubt her seriousness on the shooting, but he still though it was weird that she didn't shoot him now, instead of later when (no if about it) he called her that again. He wasn't sure, but he thought that she was flirting with him. Luckily, the caffeine had taken its effect, so he didn't feel the need to belt that out too.

She drained the rest of her coffee and stood up. "I should get going," she told him. "Goodnight, Perry."

"'Night." He waited until she had gone before adding, "Jordaroo."

His pager chose that moment to make itself known. He still had two more hours of work he had to survive.

Two car crash victims needed him to ask a nurse to give them IVs, but he was completely capable of giving them some medication through a syringe. The nurse who helped him, a woman named Lavern, even clapped.

That brought to mind his patient that was actually his patient: Carla. He waited for a quiet moment between new arrivals before he slipped away to check on her. She was fast asleep, snoring lightly. The lab had told him that her new test results would be ready the next day. They had almost refused to redo her test until he told them about the janitors. They completely understood after that, though, tell him that everyone gets 'janitored' at one point or another.

That was one good thing about the place, the sense of community everyone seemed to share, even Jordan who claimed to only be here once every few months had it, and even the evil janitors had it. He hoped that someday he might have it, too.

Just as long as he wouldn't have to be 'janitored' anymore to get it.

He turned from checking on Carla again, and started walking down the hall. He really couldn't believe that only a day had passed, yet he couldn't believe that a day had passed already. He did think that being a doctor wouldn't be so... horrible, but he guessed it could have been much worse. Still, he was immensely glad when he stepped out the double doors to the hellish hospital, breathed in the cool, fresh air, and finally made it to freedom.

Until tomorrow, anyway.


End file.
